A Christmas Carol
by Zosia Rose
Summary: My take on Charles Dickens' classic ghost story. (On hiatus...possibly until next Christmas.)
1. A Day At The Office

_Author's Note:_ This story is a retelling of Charles Dickens' classic tale, A Christmas Carol. I borrowed most of the dialogue from the book, so don't be surprised if there's only little tweaks here and there. This chapter will be from Robert Cratchit's point of view. I personally prefer the name Robert over Bob and Mrs. Cratchit calls him Robert in the book so I changed his name to Robert. I would love some constructive criticism, any kind of feedback at all really, so please don't forget to review. I am going to try to have the last chapter be posted on Christmas as a present but please don't get your hopes up. I think that's all the things I wanted to say. Thank you so much for reading.

Love and well wishes,

Zosia Rose

It was so warm under the covers, so comfortable. I mean, why wouldn't it be? Staying in bed always seems so appealing when you have to go to work in half an hour. Speaking of half an hour, I'd better get ready or I'll be late again. Mr. Scrooge would kill me if I was late. I sighed and stood up, flinching a bit as the cold air hit my skin, dressed and kissed Nell on the forehead as I left the room. Poor dear, she looked exhausted. She hadn't gone to sleep until late last night. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn't able to convince her to stop waiting up for me. I peeked into the children's room to check that they were still asleep. It was far too early for them to be up and about. Once satisfied that none of them were only pretending, I grabbed my coat and papers and headed out the door just as the clocktower across town chimed the hour. One, two, three, four. I trudged through the slush filled streets toward the office of Scrooge and Marley's. Just thinking about the place gave me the chills, but what could I do? If I made the slightest mistake or offended Mr. Scrooge in any way he would have me fired in an instant. If that happened, Tim would never get his medicine, Martha would never be able to get a job she actually liked instead of laboring all day making hats for people who had far too many already, Nell would never be able to afford that book in the display in the shop window that she'd practically drooled over on our last walk together. No, I would just have to put up with Mr. Scrooge for now and hope against hope that things would get better over time.

It took just over an hour to get to the office and fortunately Mr. Scrooge had not yet arrived. That gave me a chance to turn the heater on, not for longer than a few minutes, mind you, but on all the same. Mr. Scrooge refused to pay for the so-called frivolity of keeping the office warm, even when it fell well below freezing as it did quite often in the winter. The fact that it was Christmas Eve merely made him worse than usual. I got right to work, dutifully copying paperwork onto new paper. Don't ask me why that was what Mr. Scrooge had me do, I don't have the answer for you. I had learned the hard way long ago not to ask questions. Around seven, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, a man and a woman stepped inside. The man pushed his floppy black hair out of his eyes and introduced himself as Mr. Stevens and his companion as Ms. Holden. The woman, Ms. Holden, smiled and asked, "Are you Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?"

I paused in my writing, I had gone back to work as soon as the door clicked shut, just long enough to glance up at her briefly, "Mr. Marley died seven years ago tonight. My name is Robert Cratchit. I'm Mr. Scrooge's assistant. He's not here right now but I'm sure he will be shortly. You can wait if you want."

They sat in the chairs lined up against the wall for that very purpose and were silent for a few moments. Then Mr. Stevens spoke, "I'm sorry to hear about your loss but I'm sure that his liberality is well represented in his surviving partner. We were hoping that he would donate to our charity."

My pen slipped from my grasp and rolled across the floor as I gaped at him, "Lib-liberality? Donate? Charity? Mr-Mr. _Scrooge_?"

Ms. Holden raised her eyebrows and started to respond but the thud of the door opening cut her off. I was up in an instant, taking Mr. Scrooge's hat and coat, then hurrying to grab my fallen pen and get back to my desk. He didn't so much as glance in my direction, glaring at Mr. Stevens and Ms. Holden instead. He snapped at them in his grating voice, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The two looked at each other, shocked at his tone, then back at Mr. Scrooge as he stalked away and plopped down at his desk. They followed after him and repeated what they had told me, minus the offering condolences of course.

"And just what, may I ask, are you going to do with my hard-earned money once you have it in your grubby little hands?" was Mr. Scrooge's sharp reply.

"We are raising the money so we can buy food and shelter and medical care for the ones who have none. We choose this time because it is a time when want is keenly felt and abundance rejoices." Mr. Stevens opened his book, ready to jot down whatever amount Mr. Scrooge saw fit to give.

Neither he nor Ms. Holden were prepared for his next remark, "Are there no homeless shelters?"

"There are, but they are filled to overcrowding."

"Are there no clinics?"

"There are, but not nearly enough."

"Good! From what you said, I was afraid that something had stopped them in their useful course. I am very glad to hear it," the corners of his lips turned upwards in an imitation of a smile.

Ms. Holden plowed on, "What shall we put you down for sir?"

The smile flipped upside down in a fraction of a second, "Nothing."

They speechless for a moment, then Mr. Stevens smiled hopefully, "You wish to remain anonymous?"

I flinched as Mr. Scrooge's hand slammed onto his desk, "I wish to be left alone! Since you ask me what I wish, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to make idle people merry. My taxes go to to support the establishments I have mentioned, they cost enough. Those who are badly off must go there."

Ms. Holden was fuming, "Many can't go there and some would rather die than accept help."

Mr. Scrooge gazed calmly back at her furious stare, "If they would rather die, then had better do so and decrease the surplus population. Besides, it truly is none of my business. It is enough for someone to understand his own business and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon," and with that, he opened his laptop and began to type.

It was all Ms. Holden could do to hold Mr. Stevens back from pummelling Mr. Scrooge into the ground. She all but dragged him to the door. After hesitating for a moment and a quick glance behind me to see if Mr. Scrooge was paying attention, I went to them and silently slipped a dollar bill into Mr. Stevens hand. He stared at it then opened his mouth to thank me but I put my finger to my lips and gestured with my other hand towards Mr. Scrooge. Ms. Holden smiled and merely wished me a merry Christmas. Mr. Stevens reiterated her words as they headed out the door together. I called a merry Christmas of my own after them and continued my copying. I could hear Mr. Scrooge muttering in his office, "There's another Christmas lunatic. My own assistant, with fifteen dollars a week, and a wife and family, blathering about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam."

Work continued undisturbed until six o'clock. That's when the door burst open and Fred came in, flushed and out of breath from his walk. He grinned at me, "Merry Christmas, Robert. How've you been?"

I grinned back, Fred always seemed to be able to cheer me up even on my worst of days, "Merry Christmas to you too, Fred! I'm doing well, thanks. Just a bit cold, that's all."

"I don't blame you. It's like being on the North Pole in here!" he leaned over to the wall and fiddled with the thermostat before I could stop him. When he turned back to me he chuckled at my nervous expression, "It's all right, Robert. My uncle can't punish you for something I did."

"And just why shouldn't I, dear nephew?"

Mr. Scrooge's retort caused Fred to stride over to him and plant a kiss on the top of his head, "Merry Christmas to you too, Uncle."

Mr. Scrooge shifted away from him, "Bah! Humbug!"

"Christmas a humbug? You can't really mean that, I'm sure."

"I do! Merry Christmas? Bah! What right do you have to be merry? What _reason_ do you have to be merry? You're certainly poor enough."

Fred grin nearly split his face in half as he replied cheerfully, "What right do _you_ have to be dismal? What reason do _you_ have to be morose? You're certainly rich enough."

I had to quickly stifle my laughter before Mr. Scrooge could hear. Mr. Scrooge had no witty repartee ready at the moment so he settled for his usual answer, "Bah! Humbug!"

"Don't be cross, Uncle."

"What else can I be when I live in such a world of fools such as this? Merry Christmas? Away with Merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in them through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!" his voice was scathing and hard.

"Uncle!" Fred pleaded.

"Nephew! Keep Christmas in your way and let me keep it in mine," he glowered at Fred as he spoke.

Fred couldn't believe it, "Keep it! But you _don't_ keep it."

"Let me leave it alone, then. Much good it'll do you! Much good it has ever done you!"

Fred had had enough, "There are many things from which I derive good but have not profited monetarily, I daresay. Christmas among the rest. I have always thought of Christmas, when it comes around, as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time. The only time I know of in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really _were_ fellow passengers to the grave, and not some other race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a penny in my pocket, I believe that it _has_ done me god and _will_ good; and I will keep wishing everyone a Merry Christmas!"

I burst out in involuntary applause that stopped abruptly when Mr. Scrooge scowled indignantly at me. "One more sound from you, Cratchit, and you can spend your Christmas on the unemployment list. Get back to work!" he shifted his attention back to Fred, "You're quite a powerful speaker, Nephew. I wonder why don't you go into government. You're fool enough."

He looked at me apologetically, "You mustn't be so angry, Uncle," then back towards Mr. Scrooge, "Come to Christmas dinner tomorrow."

"I'll see you in Hell first."

"But why? Why?" Fred cried.

"Why did you get married?"

He sighed softly, "Because I fell in love."

"Because you fell in love!" growled Mr. Scrooge, as if the only thing more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas were those words, "Good afternoon!"

"But Uncle, you never came to see me before I got married. Why give it as a reason now?"

"Good afternoon," was his only answer.

"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had an argument, to which I have been a party. But I came here in honor of Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So a Merry Christmas, Uncle!"

"Good afternoon!"

"And a happy new year!"

"Good afternoon!"

Fred stopped on his way out to say goodbye to me, then was gone. I followed Mr. Scrooge's order to turn off the heater and went back to my copying, drowning out his mutterings about lunatics. Neither Mr. Scrooge nor I moved from our spots until the bell tolled nine. He stalked out of his office towards where I was waiting with his coat and hat. I had no need to waste extra time by putting on my own as I had never taken them off if the effort to keep myself from freezing. I wrung my hands while I tried to give my confidence a boost. I wanted to ask him if I could take Christmas off but my lips refused to form the correct words. After Mr. Scrooge had finished buttoning up his coat, his cold gaze settled on my trembling form, "You'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose."

I gulped, "If that's okay with you, sir."

"It's _not_ okay with me. And it's not fair. If I was to dock you that day's pay, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound. And yet you don't think _me_ ill-used when I pay a day's wages for no work," he was nearly seething by then.

"It's only once a year, sir," it wasn't the best defense but it was all I could think of.

"A poor excuse for picking my pocket every twenty-fifth of December!" retorted Mr. Scrooge. I looked down at my feet. It was over. I wasn't going to get the day off. But then he sighed slightly, "I suppose you must have the _whole_ day. But you'll be staying an extra hour here at the office for the next two months. And don't expect to be paid for tomorrow. Be here an hour early the next morning. Do you understand?"

At my nod, he left and slammed the door behind him, leaving me standing in the middle of the room with my mouth hanging open in shock. Mr. Scrooge had given me the day off. _Mr. Scrooge had given me the whole day off!_ It didn't sink in for a full minute and a half. An enormous smile spread across my face as I realized that it was true, that it hadn't been a cruelly wonderful dream. I rushed to my desk in order to shove my papers into their folder. It took me a mere two minutes to gather my things and turn off the lights and lock the door. Then I was free. I felt like I could fly as I started on my way home. I didn't feel the cold that night, my brain and body were too busy in their imaginings of the following day.


	2. A Warning From An Old Friend

_Author's Note:_ This chapter is from old Scrooge's point of view. I apologize if my switching of the P.O.V. is a bit jarring. All but the last chapter will be in Scrooge's P.O.V. I'm very glad that I was able to post this today. I didn't think that I was going to be. Apparently, it being your half birthday doesn't excuse you from finishing the Modern World History essay you forgot about so that took priority. I would appreciate any type of response, whether you like the story or not. I'm extraordinarily grateful to everyone and anyone reading this. You are why I write...Sorry, didn't mean to get all sappy there. Happy half birthday to me!

Love and well wishes,

Zosia Rose

I spent what little that was left of the evening with my bankers-book, eating my usual meal at my usual table at my usual tavern. Once I had finished my food, I went home and thoughts of Marley roamed my mind as I walked. I lived in Marley's old house, although one could hardly call it a house when almost all the rooms were being used as offices. (For a handsome fee of course.) The gloomy sky had darkened to the point of near blindness. I knew every nook and cranny and still I was forced to grope about with my hands to find my way. When I got to the door at last I paused for a moment on the stoop, fumbling for my keys. The formation of a greenish sort of light caused me to look up. I jumped backwards in fright, nearly tumbling down the steps. Now I'm not easily frightened but you try looking at your dead business partner's face in the place where your doorknocker should be. There was no doubt that it was indeed him. The greasy blond hair was the same, the wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose was the same, the face's expression was the same as the one that I had observed many times on the living version. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the unpleasant vision, watching as the light gradually grew more intense until it became too blindingly bright to keep my eyes open. I kept them closed as the light faded, then slowly opened them, still expecting to see his keen eyes boring into my soul. They did not. The whole face had vanished, along with the dim light that had accompanied it. I stood frozen and blinking on the steps before I managed to get a grip on myself. Muttering curses under my breath, I grasped the key in my hand and unlocked the door. I turned and surveyed the yard before closing it, upon finding nothing out of the ordinary I proclaimed the whole ordeal a humbug.

Once inside the house, however, my overwhelming feeling of nervousness and fear did not go away. Hoping to make them go away, I looked throughout the house to prove to myself that there was nothing to be frightened of, that it had all merely been a trick of my imagination. I searched the sitting room. Nothing there. I searched the kitchen. Nothing there either. On and on I went, entering every room I came across. Not one thing was out of place. Finally, I got to my bedroom. The unusual feeling lingered still, causing me to lock myself in, which I almost never did. The action gave me a sense of security. I sighed heavily and sunk down into my armchair. The day had come, gone, and left me exhausted. Damn Cratchit and his day off! Damn Fred and his infernal Merry Christmas! Damn the people from the charity and their _generosity_! Honestly, how the hell did everyone survive this time of year? Every time it rolled around, it grew even more draining, even more tiresome, even more maddening. Why couldn't it just-"Scrooooooge!"

I recoiled, startled. It couldn't be him. It just couldn't. He's dead. Dead for seven long years. All other thoughts flew out of my brain. The words 'No, he's dead.' played on repeat in their place. My voice hardly grew above a whisper, "Who... Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Don't you recognize me, Scrooge? You should," Marley's gravelly voice sounded like it came from behind me so I turned to face it. Slowly, slowly. What I saw made me want to close my eyes against the sight. Marley was indeed there, floating a good inch or so above the ground. The mist from earlier pervaded his body, giving it an unhealthy greenish glow. He was transparent, I could see all the way through to the bedpost behind him. None of that was the thing that struck terror into my heart, however fearsome they might have been. No, it was the chain that was coiled around his waist and dragged behind him that did it. The chain went on for yards and yards and attached every few links were cash boxes, padlocks, keys, ledgers, deeds, heavy purses wrought in steel.

After spluttering for a short while, I managed to get out, "Marley? What do you want from me?" I knew the answer but I feared his response all the same.

Marley smiled, an eerie, chilling smile, "Much." He cocked his head to the side questioningly, "You don't believe in me do you?"

"I don't," unfortunately, it came out as a squeak. Not quite the bravado I had hoped for.

"Do your senses say I'm real?"

I shook my head, "I don't know."

"Why do you doubt them?"

"Because a little thing can affect them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may only be an undigested bit of beef, a blob of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato," I was really on a roll now, "There's more gravy than grave about you, whatever you are!"

Marley's eyes wormed their way into mine, holding them captive. Then he screamed. The scream brought thoughts to mind, thoughts that were not mine, thoughts that were horrific and gruesome. I begged him to stop with all my might, falling onto my knees as I did so. After what seemed like an eternity and a millisecond at the same time, he complied, leaving me out of breath and ready to do anything to appease him. He went back to staring at me as if he had never stopped, "Do you believe in me now?"

I trembled, "I do. I must. But why are you here?"

"It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad with his fellowmen and travel far and wide. If that spirit doesn't go forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander throughout the world and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth and turned to happiness," he shook his chain with both hands in contempt, "I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link, yard by yard, of my own free will and of my own free will I wore it. Do you recognize it? Do you know the weight and length of your own? It was as heavy and as full as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it since. It is a ponderous chain!"

I glanced around me, expecting to see a chain matching the spirit's description coiled around my own waist, "Oh, Marley! Speak comfort to me!"

"I have none to give. It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is permitted to me. I can't rest, I can't stay, I can't linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our office. It never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole in life. Now I am captive, bound, and double ironed, not to know what good I might have done. Not to know who I might have helped. Not to know that no amount of regret can make amends for one's life opportunities misused. Yet such was I! Oh! Such was I!" he held his head in his hands now.

I felt as if I had to do _something_ to make him feel better, so I said rather lamely, "But you were always a good man of business, Marley."

"Business? Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were my business. The dealings of our trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!" I had no answer so he continued, "I am here tonight to warn you. You have a chance and hope of escaping my fate. You will be haunted by three spirits."

"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Marley?"

"It is."

"I-I think I'd rather not."

"Without their visits, you can't hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first tomorrow when the bell tolls one."

"Couldn't they all come at once and be over with it?"

He ignored my question, "Expect the second on the next night at the same hour and the third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more and, for your sake, don't forget what has passed between us," he crossed to the window, opened it, and stepped out, gone on the gusts of the biting wind. I closed the window in a trance and checked the lock on the door, still locked. I tried to say 'Humbug!' but choked on the first syllable. Being suddenly extremely tired, I flopped down on my bed without even bothering to change into pajamas, and fell asleep in an instant.


	3. Memories Long Forgotten

_Author's Note:_ I am so, so, so sorry that this is so late. First I got writer's block, then I had essays and homework to do, then a bunch of snow days happened (extremely uncommon in Portland, Oregon), then I went on a trip with my family. I apologize profusely. I will try to have this finished by Sunday but I really don't think that writing three chapters in such a short amount of time is going to be possible, especially with all the other stuff to do to get ready for Christmas. If I don't finish, the next chapters will probably be up later. I don't really know when, so don't get your hopes up about it being soon. Again, I apologize. Honestly, I'm still surprised that people have put up with the long intervals between posts enough to read this. You probably thought that I had forgotten all about this. I should stop babbling now. Thanks and don't forget to review. Felicem natalem Christi!

Love and well wishes,

Zosia Rose

I groggily opened my eyes to find only a wall of darkness around me. Even the slight glow that my alarm clock gave off did little to assuage my fears, informing me only of the time. Wait, that couldn't be right. The hands of the clock were spinning around in a blur. Ten o'clock turned to eleven o'clock turned to midnight, finally stopping at one. At the instant the hands of the clock touched their final and respective places, a blinding light filled the room, not unlike the light that had appeared when Marley's face had disappeared earlier. A hazy figure floated towards me as it dimmed. It appeared humanlike except for its continually changing shape. One moment it had three legs, the next it had one. One moment it had two eyes, the next there were too many to count. It seemed to be a thing of duality, both young and old, both human and ethereal, both physical and incorporeal. It stared harshly down at me with ancient eyes making not a sound. This must be the first spirit. I tried to speak to it, only to find that my throat and mouth had gone dry. My lips formed my planned words but nothing came out. After several fruitless attempts at this the spirit itself spoke, "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past." Its voice matched its appearance, sounding close and far at the same time.

I tried again to speak. This time, the words came easily, "Long past?"

It shook its head back and forth, back and forth, "No, Ebenezer, _your_ past. I am here to benefit your welfare."

It took all my willpower not to snap at the spirit. A full night's sleep would've benefitted my welfare far more than any ghostly vision would, if you asked me. The spirit must have heard my thoughts for he replied immediately, "Your reclamation, then. Now rise and walk with me!"

I protested (It was below freezing outside and I wasn't wearing my coat, after all.) but it was to no avail. The spirit merely took ahold of my arm and pulled me towards the window. I resisted, insisting that I was mortal and liable to fall, for I suspected that there would be no walking with the spirit. In answer, it grasped my hand in its own and said in its soft voice, "Keep hold of me and you shall be upheld in more than this."

I relented and let it resume its course. The wall faded, revealing an old country road with farmers' fields surrounding. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it could be seen. Even the darkness and the smog had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold day, with a blanket of snow settled upon the ground. A thousand odors floated through the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts and hopes and joys and cares, long, long forgotten. The spirit gestured down the road, where the tops of towering brick buildings could be seen, "Do you know the way?"

I chuckled, "Know the way? I could walk it blindfolded. I was raised here!"

"Strange to have forgotten it for so long. Let us go on."

As we walked along the road I recognized every gate, post, and tree. I led the spirit through the little town, past the church, past the bridge over the lazy river, past the market, until a veritable swarm of boys could be seen. All of them were in great spirits and shouted to each other until the broad fields were so full of merry music that even I laughed to hear it. (Hey, don't judge me! Laughing _is_ infectious, you know!) I knew each one by name and called out to them, "Oliver! Atticus! Jack!"

The spirit cut me off, "They are but shadows of the things that have been. They have no consciousness of us."

Its words brought me back to my normal self. What did I care about boys who had fallen out of memory long ago? What did I care about their happiness, their glee? What did I care about their familiar shouts of 'Merry Christmas'? Out upon 'Merry Christmas'! What good had it ever done for me? Bah! Humbug! The spirit gestured towards the schoolhouse, "The school is not quite deserted. A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still." Yes, I remembered, despite my attempts at forgetting.

The monstrous building hadn't changed a bit since that last Christmas. It had not lost its peculiar chilly bareness, which somehow had always made me think of too much getting up in the middle of the night and not very much to eat. The rooms were still poorly furnished, cold, vast. A door at the very end of the hall was open and through it we passed. We entered a long, bare, melancholy classroom, made barer still by the lines of desks and chairs all facing a chalkboard. At one of these I spied a lonely boy reading a book near the rattling heater. The sight of my former self brought back memories long buried, ones that I didn't want to remember. That part of my life was firmly shut away in the dark recesses of my mind, never expecting to be heard from again. The spirit interrupted my thoughts, "Your lip is trembling. And what is that on your cheek?"

I hurriedly brushed away the stray tear, "A pimple. Nothing more." The younger me was reading a book that sparked recollections of men in foreign garments, sultan's grooms, green and yellow parrots on an island out in the middle of nowhere. If my business acquaintances could see me at that point, exclaiming in a most extraordinary voice in a cross between laughing and crying, they would've fainted on the spot in surprise. The fit of crazed laughter passed with an unusual rapidness and the tears took over, "I wish…but it's much too late now."

"What is the matter?" asked the spirit.

"Nothing. Nothing. There was a boy singing Christmas carols on my walk to work this morning. I should like to have given him something, that's all."

The spirit smiled thoughtfully and waved his hand, saying as he did so, "Let us see another Christmas."

My former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked, fragments of plaster fell from the ceiling; but I had no knowledge on how all this was brought about. I only knew that it was quite correct; that everything had happened so; that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays. The younger me was not reading now, but pacing in front of the window despairingly. I looked at the ghost and, with a mournful shake of my head, glanced at the door. It opened and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came darting in. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him to her heart's content, addressing him as her 'dear, dear brother' all the while.

"I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" exclaimed the child, clapping her tiny hands and laughing, "To bring you home, home, home!"

"Home, little Fan?"

"Yes! Home, for good and all. Home, for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home's like heaven now! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I wasn't afraid to ask him once more if you might come home and he said that you should and sent me to fetch you. We're going to be together all Christmas long and have the merriest time in all the world. You're never to come back here again," her eyes sparkled with glee.

My former self laughed, "You're quite a woman, little Fan!"

She laughed too, and tried to touch the top of his head but, being too little, wasn't able to reach and embraced him instead. Then she began to drag him towards the door and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.

"Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered," remarked the spirit, "But she had a large heart. She died a woman and had, I think, children?"

"One child," I didn't like to think about that.

"True. Your nephew, Fred."

I merely nodded in acquiescence. We left the school behind us and in less than an instant found ourselves on a busy office decorated for the holidays. I was stunned when I saw a stocky gentleman with bushy gray hair sitting at a large desk. It was Mr. Fezziwig, my first (and only) employer. He had grown to become my surrogate father over our years of working together. The clock on the wall behind him sounded the hour as he jumped up and announced work done for the day. Everyone cheered and cleared away the desks and chairs and various other items to make room for the holiday party that was about to start. There was nothing that they wouldn't, or couldn't, have cleared away with old Fezziwig looking on. It was finished in a minute and the spacious office became as snug, and warm, and bright a ballroom as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three little Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came all the people employed in the business. In came the boy from next door, trying to hide behind his older sister. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. There was dancing and food and more dancing and more food, with a healthy dose of happy chattering and laughing throughout. Everyone had a smile on their faces and if anyone didn't, the others soon fixed that.

I was so entranced in watching my past self, now a young man, thoroughly enjoy himself that I barely noticed the passage of time. Soon eleven o'clock came 'round and the ball came to its reluctant end. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their places, one on either side of the door, and wished everyone a Merry Christmas and a good night. During the whole party, I had acted like a man out of his wits. My heart and soul were in the scene, with the former me. I corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It wasn't until the spirit spoke that I became aware of his presence again, "A small matter to make these silly people so full of gratitude."

I was outraged, "Small?!"

The spirit nodded, "Is it not? He has spent but a small amount of your mortal money. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?"

"It isn't that, Spirit." my anger had flared and I unconsciously spoke like my former, not my latter, self, "He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome, a pleasure or a toil. His power lies in words and looks, in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count them up. The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it had cost a fortune…" I trailed off, realizing all over again the power in seemingly meaningless things and how they affect others and the stark contrast between Mr. Fezziwig and I.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing in particular," I hedged the question.

"Something I think," the spirit's eyes seemed to bore into me.

"No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my assistant just now, that's all."

We found ourselves once again in the open air then, this time in a snow laden park. Two people sat on a bench; a woman in a long black coat and my former self, now in my late thirties. The woman had tears in her eyes that she stubbornly refused to let fall, "It matters little. To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in the times to come, as I would've tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."

"What idol has displaced me?"

"A golden one."

He scoffed, "This is the evenhanded dealing of the world! There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth."

"You fear the world too much. All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?"

"Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I have not changed my feelings toward you," he retorted.

She shook her head, "Our agreement is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so until, in good season, we could improve our fortune. You _are_ changed. When it was made, you were a different man."

He brushed it off, "I was a boy."

"Your own feelings tell you that you have changed. I have not. When we were one at heart, this agreement promised happiness. Now that we are two, it is fraught with misery. I have thought long and hard on this matter," she took an unsteady breath, "I have decided to release you from our agreement."

"Have I ever sought release?" he demanded.

"Never in words."

"In what, then?"

"In a changed nature, in an altered spirit, in another atmosphere of life, in everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If you were just meeting me now, never having seen me before, would you seek me out and try to pursue my love?"

He had no proper response to her accusations, " _You_ think not."

"I would gladly think otherwise if I could. But if you were free today, tomorrow, yesterday, I can't believe that you would choose a dowerless girl. And even if you did choose one I know that repentance and regret would surely follow. I release you with a heart full of love for the man you once were," she twisted her ring off her finger and handed it to him, "You may, and part of me hopes that you will, have pain from this. But a very, very brief time time will pass and you'll dismiss the recollection of it gladly as an unprofitable dream from which it was good that you awoke. May you be happy with the life you have chosen." And then she was gone forever. I fell to my knees and wept.


End file.
